


To Provoke to a High Degree

by blehgah



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Ambiguity, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Stream of Consciousness, sex mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 01:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4767707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blehgah/pseuds/blehgah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flynn is angry.</p><p>No particular setting, but assume it takes place post-game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Provoke to a High Degree

**Author's Note:**

> this is a little something i started when i first finished the game two years ago and decided to finish upon finding it again.

He is angry. He is fuming, he is outraged, he is indignant, he is livid.

His hands are tangled in Yuri's dark hair for a moment. Their eyes meet; Yuri's gaze retains hints of amusement interrupted by bits of surprise. However, as always, fear is absent. The only times he's ever really seen fear in Yuri's dark eyes had been when lives were in danger.

He wonders what these eyes must look like when _his_ life is in danger.

There's blood on his gloves, a few drops on his carpet. Another wound Yuri's sustained, another sacrifice made. He discards his gloves, his gauntlets, his armor, leaving only his blue uniform.

Yuri smirks. He scowls. Yuri says something, but the words don't reach his ears.

Holding back a growl, he grabs Yuri by the front of his shirt. More surprise in Yuri's eyes and they widen. Yuri's lips finally stop moving, the words trailing off his tongue. Now Yuri seems content to watch him, to gauge his movements and the meaning held behind them.

Flynn takes a deep breath. It's supposed to be calming, but in reality, all it does is fan the flames in his chest. His grip tightens on Yuri's clothes and he pushes Yuri against his desk. As wind leaves Yuri's mouth, Flynn can't help but feel thick, sickly satisfaction in his stomach.

Yuri is _human_. Yuri is vulnerable, soft, and Flynn _knows_ he feels pain. He can see the slight flinch that crosses Yuri's dark eyes, feel the tension in the body laid against his.

They're close now, close enough that Flynn can feel moist breath against his cheek. That strain in Yuri's core, that furrow in his brow, the telltale signs of _feeling_ and _pain_ \- Flynn finds himself craving them. It fills some void in him, helps patch up the wounds in his pride when he thinks about what Yuri's done for him and for the world, the things Flynn couldn't have even _dreamed_ of doing.

Yuri breathes Flynn's name. It quivers on Yuri's tongue, heavy with uncertainty and a number of things Flynn doesn't want to analyze.

Flynn pushes harder and relishes the way that Yuri arches his back. He clings to the low keening sound in Yuri's throat. The vibration in Yuri's chest echoes through Flynn's bones, spreads from his ribs to his throat and his toes, from his lungs to the very tips of his fingers.

For a very still and steady moment, Yuri stares at him. His lips are caught in a grimace, his hands bracing himself back against the desk. Flynn stares back, his breath flying in and out in shallow pants.

Then Flynn finds himself on his back, his head acquainting itself with the hard ground. He can smell the blood in the carpet and his stomach churns. There's hunger there, mixed with several flavours of disgust; whether or not the disgust is aimed at himself or Yuri, he's unsure.

"This is how you wanna play now, huh?" Yuri snarls into his ear.

Flynn moves to push him off, but his wrists are pinned to the floor. His legs are pressed together under Yuri's weight, and lifting his hips off the ground is completely out of the question.

That is, until Yuri grinds their pelvises together. Flynn gasps, fighting to reel in the air that suddenly escapes his chest.

Yuri growls something unintelligible before releasing Flynn's wrists. Almost immediately the two tear at the other's clothes, Flynn cursing the state of his uniform at the mercy of Yuri's furious hands.

There's a thought in the back of Flynn's mind, the one rational fraction that still has a voice in there, and it's something frivolous about differing parts and particular positions and preparations. He pays it no heed, however. This is _Yuri_. Flynn knows this body like the back of his hand, trusts the man behind it more than he can trust himself at times.

God, do they make a mess. Flynn continues to fume, but appreciates the freedom on a different level. There are no longer any barriers between them. There is nothing but Yuri before him, skin and flesh and bones, human through and through. This is as basic as it gets, isn't it?

His chest heaves with exertion and he is all too aware of how difficult it is to keep his head straight. His thoughts rise and fall to the rhythm of his breathing, revolving around himself and Yuri before crashing to the floor in a flurry of confusion and anger.

Flynn figures Yuri mirrors his expression, though there's a calmness to Yuri that escapes Flynn. His dark eyes are clear, piercing his body, ready for anything else Flynn has to throw into the fray.

Flynn takes a deep breath. Then he reaches for Yuri's wrists, drawing them to his chest. Yuri lets him, doesn't say a word. The only power Yuri exercises is used to remain standing tall.

There are a number of scars along Yuri's arms, old wounds from when he was a part of the Imperial Knights, a time before he knew Lady Estellise and her incredible healing power. There are lines of scar tissue, sometimes patches from blasts of magic or shrapnel, messy marks that break up the smooth planes of Yuri's skin. Flynn traces them with his fingertips first, rakes his nails over them second. All Yuri does in response is shiver as goosebumps rise in Flynn's wake.

When Flynn flicks his gaze up at Yuri, he receives a questioning look. Flynn shakes his head, shakes off the question, unable to trust himself with coherent thought. Yuri's expression falls blank before he yanks on Flynn's arm.

They topple onto Flynn's bed and suddenly there's teeth digging into his flesh. Hot pain sears through his shoulder before the heavy weight of Yuri's hips fall against his own. His breath stutters out of his throat in short bursts and he feels heat in his veins on an infinite loop.

Yuri grabs his wrists again. Despite the softness of the bed and the softness of Yuri's skin against his, all Flynn can feel is rough and hard. Yuri is relentless, always relentless, determined and harsh and _oh, Yuri._ Flynn continues to crumble under Yuri's movements and he can't fight back.

Panting, lying under Yuri, Flynn chances a glance up at his partner. Yuri meets his gaze immediately, his brow furrowed. There are shades of concern there, concern crowding even smaller fractions of affection and Flynn moans again, unable to contain himself.

Yuri is too much, always too much, always there and always close but never close enough. This time, however, this time he's finally within reach and...

Flynn arches his back this time. Yuri swallows his moans and groans and devours Flynn's mouth in a ravenous kiss.

Yuri lets go of Flynn's wrists. Flynn's immediate reaction is to reach for Yuri's neck. Yuri's breath is quick and shallow as it rattles in his throat, but as Flynn's fingers slowly close around his neck, Yuri has the gall to _smirk_.

Flynn's hands drop to Yuri's shoulders and he digs his nails into the flesh there. Yuri is heat, unbearable warmth in the pit of Flynn's stomach and in the basin of his pelvis. It burns through his nerves, his sensations eaten up and ground into ashes until all he knows is Yuri, Yuri, Yuri.

When Flynn reaches his peak, Yuri's there to catch him. They ride it out together, crash through layers of pleasure together, but it's Yuri who catches Flynn, not the other way around.

Yuri doesn't see the value in himself, but Flynn knows. Flynn knows. Yuri's grip around Flynn is tender and soft and Flynn knows.

Flynn catches Yuri's gaze with ease. Air expands his chest as he tries to find an even rhythm for his breathing.

"Not one for pillow talk, huh?" Yuri asks. His voice is small in Flynn's room; it refuses to be invasive or demanding, and the familiar sound of it soothes Flynn's hot blood.

Flynn shakes his head as he searches for his tongue. Once he finally finds it, he says, "It's just... I wasn't exactly expecting that."

"Yeah?" Yuri quirks a brow. Flynn doesn't buy it for a second and can already see the beginnings of a smile on the corners of Yuri's eyes and lips. "Then what exactly were you expecting?"

Again, Flynn shakes his head. He rolls onto his back and folds his hands over his stomach. "I don't know, Yuri. Sometimes I don't know what to expect from you anymore."

"That's the fun part of growing up, Flynn. Isn't it?"

Flynn doesn't bother to turn his head to gauge Yuri's expression; the flick of his eyes suffices, and when he recognizes that shit-eating expression on Yuri's face, Flynn cuffs Yuri's shoulder.

"You're impossible," Flynn states simply.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You shouldn't."

"Coming from you? I think it's definitely a compliment. In fact, you could say..."

Flynn glances at Yuri as he trails off. The grin on Yuri's face doesn't comfort Flynn at all.

"That you just did the impossible," Yuri finishes.

Flynn's mouth opens and shuts a few times. Words fail him; instead, he decides that shoving Yuri's face into the wall is a much better idea than speaking.

When Yuri's laughter dies down, he claps an arm around Flynn's shoulders. His skin is hot when it touches Flynn's, but at this stage, now that everything has cooled down and his thoughts have righted themselves on the track of Flynn's mind, it's not such a big deal anymore.

At least, that's what he tells himself. Flynn looks at Yuri and he can't wrap his head around any of the things that stir in his chest when their eyes meet.

"We can figure it out as we go," Yuri tells him, his smile soft and sincere now. It's a unique smile, reserved for Flynn's eyes only. "Or does that sound too unruly for you, Commandant?"

"Don't call me that," Flynn responds too quickly. Yuri chuckles.

"Flynn," Yuri corrects himself.

Flynn reaches out to tuck some of Yuri's endless hair behind his ear. "That sounds good to me, Yuri."

Humming, Yuri closes his eyes. When Flynn's hand lingers on his cheek, Yuri dips his head and Flynn meets him halfway.


End file.
